Life is full of surprises. I recently refused to make New Year resolutions on the grounds that any possible changes ahead of me would be downhill all the way. I’d get more tottery, deafer, more short-sighted, more housebound, more bored, lose my memory, etc. Time to cut down on commitments and take it easy.

But then guess what happened: the Western Mail offered me promotion! I was given the option of having more space in which to strut my stuff, starting next week.

At my age, the mature response to such a proposition is to ask for time to consider it. I’m not getting any younger. I shouldn’t bite off more than I can chew.

At this moment I’m not bursting with self-confidence, either. Last week I was snooty about Wikipedia. I then discovered, just too late for a rewrite, that Saturday was Wikipedia’s 10th birthday. It’s improved a lot over the years. It has its flaws, but it’s free, democratic, popular, and always ready to correct anything it gets wrong.

I have my flaws too. I shouldn’t have been knocking it on its anniversary. Sorry, Wiki – and many happy returns.

Meanwhile, in response to the Western Mail’s offer, instead of saying “I’ll think about it”, I’d said “Ooh – yes, please!” without thinking at all. I suddenly felt that all those pessimistic prophecies of what lies ahead were overdone. I’d get less mobile and deafer, no doubt, but it was ridiculous to say “more bored”.

Admittedly, if you’ve always been easily bored you’ll go on being bored. But old age alone doesn’t bring it on. When I hear or read something new, I’m as likely as ever I was to think: “Wow! I never knew that! Tell me more!”

So I propose to carry on writing this sort of stuff until further notice. I may have one foot in the grave, but there’s no rush to put the other in as well, is there? If I start writing drivel, my nearest and dearest will no doubt break it to me gently, and I’ll hand in my cards.

Besides, I think it’s good for the blood pressure to have an outlet where you can let off steam when a news item makes you indignant. Did you read what Jamie Oliver said the other day about his wife’s cooking? He said: “I tell her it’s great, but to be honest it’s fairly hideous.” How can she stay married to this man? He was clearly and publicly implying that (1) she doesn’t feed him properly, (2) she can’t tell when he’s lying, and (3) she’ll never know what he said because she’s too thick to read a newspaper.

I reckon she should down tools and let him flaunt his expertise in his own kitchen, while she sits back and gives him marks out of 10 and posts off her verdict to the Daily Express.